Introducing Dr. Graham.

In the year of our Lord Jesus Christ on April 13, 1840, Alastair MacQualter Graham was born with an 18 carat gold spoon shoved down his pie hole to two narcissistic, wealthy, blue blooded Bostonian Yankees who could not have cared less. Everybody assumed the young lad would follow family tradition and enter the idle, corrupt, conniving and swindling profession of banking. Allistair's father was surprised to learn that his lazy seed wanted to be a surgeon! Most surgeons like barbers were itenerent low lifes not held with much regard by those in high society. The boy neglected his studies and spent his youth capturing and dissecting animals for fun. Later he would bury the carcass only to dig it up months later to examine the maggot, cleansed of flesh, bones. Keeping in line with his life's philosophy of doing as little as possible with minimal effort, Alastair applied to the new Homeopathic Medical School at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor only to be quickly and soundly rejected due to "poor academic preparation, lack of ambition and fortitude and questionable moral character." Hoping to be rid of his son, the elder Graham, quickly endowed a chair at Harvard University in Cambridge, Massachusetts and to nobody's surprise, Alistair was granted admission and ultimately graduated at the bottom of his class in 1861. That year in April, the Confederacy, threatened by the Northern state's bully posturing, attacked Fort Sumpter and the Great American War of Northern Aggression was off and running. Alistair Mac Qualter Graham, M.D. having failed at multiple attempts to establish a private surgical practice due to his fondness for adult beverages, decided to enlist in the Army as an hired saw. Thinking it wouldn't be too bad to own some slaves to help out a bit it seemed logical to hitch up with the Army of Northern Virginia under the command of General Robert E. Lee despite the fact that he had nothing in common with the South other than his new belief in slavery. So began the career of Alistair MacQualter Graham, M.D., budding young Army hack with a soon to be abundance of hapless severely injured young patients. Fortunately, despite the multitude of snake eyed, theiving, self taught ambulance chasing attorneys, medical malpractice was not the problem it would later become. Most patients succumbed to medical mistakes and were simply buried in shallow graves and forgotten. In addition, Army surgeons lived from pay check to pay check drinking away most of their money and never accumulated assets making any legal action moot. A medical degree, a budding practice, a lot of down time between battles and an abundance of American whiskey, Scotch whisky and rye. What was not to like? Had Dr. Graham found Heaven on Earth? Feeling good about himself and his new found interest in slavery, Alastair poured himself a dram of Double Black Johnny Walker 40% alcohol, 80 proof whisky with a peaty nose and coal smoldering smoke with spice back ground. Kicking back, Alistair savored the burn and waited for the issuing of his darkies. Slàinte, Tommy Maaltman.

Tommy Maaltman, the Oracle

Tommy Maaltman "is a polital genius, an oracle, a wise sage with his finger on the pulse, a rare man who keeps his head and clearly sees the future." (See Tommy Maaltman's Malt Musings, 2/26/2011, once again, another shameless plug.). These are the words Kellyanne Conway used when after the 2016 Presedential Election she imediately telephoned Tommy Maaltman asking, no begging, him to join her team she is assembling to smooth the transition of power from the communist O'bama to President Donald J. Trump. It's a new dawn Maaltmen. It's true, Tommy Maaltman predicted the Trump movement. Tommy Maaltman saw the tidal wave of polital change coming. Tommy Maaltman saw the signs and read them correctly. Tommy Maaltman saw the times changing. Tommy Maaltman saw the pain and suffering of the people. Too many taxes, too much political correctness, too little incentive to succeed and Tommy Maaltman giggled when the Tsunami hit on November 8, 2016. So Tommy Maaltman is going to sit back with his feet on the desk and grab a huge juicy........dram of Macallan, the Highland Single Malt Scotch Whisky, Whisky Maker's Edition, 42.6% Alc/vol. with a burnt corn syrup color, fresh fruit and toffee nose, sweet fruit with spice first taste, smooth mellow smoky fruit with roasted ginger and clove second taste and a subtle smoky finish. And no Kellyanne, Tommy Maaltman won't be joining your team or any other team for that matter. That's not what Tommy Maaltman is all about. It would dramatically interfere with his true passion, i.e., procuring, sampling, tasting, discovering and critiquing cask strength single malt Scotch whisky. It's going to be HUGE, it's AMAZING, make Tommy Maaltman......I mean America great again. Slàinte, Tommy Maaltman

Colton NMI Lassiter list of chief characters continued. The Gambler.

The Gambler, deceased. Cheatin', scumbag, card shark dressed in a fine black silk suit, black felt Homburg hat, rattle snake skull bolo tie, and fine white linen shirt. Caught a lead slug in his blackened heart after trying to cheat Lassiter at cards. Favorite Scotch single malt, The Glenlivit 18 year old, 43 vol. Color, the Gambler's favorite, pure gold. Nose, sweet, fruit and flowers. Taste, flowers, peach and nutty flavors. Finish, sweet and bitter. Just what the Doctor ordered for a evil, blackened heart. Slàinte, Tommy Maaltman

Morning in Paradise. Lassiter's eyes instinctively snapped open at daybreak and as he stood up out of his plank board bed strewn with flea infested straw, his knees creaked and moaned like an old barn door slowly swinging in the breeze. Spitting, he missed the spittoon and the brown gelatinous wad slowly rolled down the corner wall at the mercy of gravity. He walked to the creek with steely gray eyes glazed over by the effect of a typical poor night's sleep, the result of the ever present demons of being a lone, stone cold killer for hire. He knelt down and plunged his face into the icy cold water of the nearby creek that served as the sewer system for the dirty, dusty forgotten town of.....Forgotten. The cold water on his sun damaged face awakened him fully and upon opening his eyes underwater he saw several fluid laden corpulent scum bags float by cascading off his nose as the current took them down stream. Violently withdrawing his head with a painful jerk from the water he stood up and exhaled the remaining stale air from his emphysematous lungs and ejaculated, "Sheeeeeit, this town West of the law is becoming too damned populated." A typical start of Lassiter's day! Walking back to his frontier log cabin he shared with his smoking hot Swedish wife with platinum blonde hair and a "Come to Jesus" body, he knew what he had to do. Reaching for the bottle, he poured himself a dram of Glen Moray. 53.8% alcohol, aged 34 years in a refill hogs head, ex bourbon cask. With a masculine nose of Egyptian tobacco, the pale straw yellow whisky was smooth, mellow and surprisingly sweet with a long, light nutty finish. As the cask strength whisky took affect, Lassiter realized that at least the seed of some drunken, degenerate, derelict didn't impregnate one of the feckless whores plying her trade at The Hole in the Wall Saloon. Lassiter was always able to see the good in the bad. Sàlainte, Tommy Maaltman

The Legend of Colton NMI Lassiter. List of characters

Colton NMI Lassiter. The fearsome, lone, stone cold professional killer for hire (gunslinger) with steely gray eyes and decorated Confederate Veteran of the War of Northern Aggression. The NMI stands for no middle initial. Favorite cask strength single malt Scotch whisky: Macallan 1953. Color, dark bronze. Nose, woody oak. Taste, wood, sherry and fruit. Finish, lovingly smooth. Availability, limited.

Lassiter reflects on Thanksgiving

The wooden planks,of the floor creaked as Lassiter walked to the table, pulled out a large oak chair and sat down. Leaning forward, he removed from his back hip pocket an Injun skin pouch filled with premium Turkish tobacco and began to expertly build himself a smoke. His mind began to wander to an earlier conversation between two Easterners that he overheard at the train station about a new fangled machine the government was working on that could roll hundreds of cigarettes in a short period of time. The thought disgusted Lassiter. What self sufficient man living in the Territory West of the Law would smoke a machine rolled cigarette? What was happening to this country, he thought to himself? Next thing you know the government would be issuing checks to the folks too old, too sick, to infirmed, too disabled or just plain too lazy to work! At least the redskins knew how to deal with these people. They simply moved camp and left the weak behind to fend for themselves. Who knew, perhaps the government would issue food coupons for those unable to provide food for their families. Maybe if a man couldn't put food on the table for his family, he shouldn't have one, Lassiter thought to himself. Maybe in the future the government would even pay a man's Doctor's bills! Of course if this happened the government would have to collect massive taxes to pay for all these entitlements. The Founders would be spinning in their graves. Lassiter placed the cigarette between his taught pencil thin lips, cupped his hands around the end and sparked the tobacco. Inhaling deeply, he felt the familiar seering, "come to Jesus" burn as his lungs filled with the heavily nicotene laden unfiltered smoke. The tension began to ease. Lassiter couldn't help but think about what a good life he had. Decorated Confererate Veteran of the War of Northern Aggression, gunslinger, self employed killer for hire with a smoking hot blonde Swedish super model half his age named Inge, for a wife. He decide to pour himself a dram of Ardbeg, Uigeadail, a single malt Islay Scotch Whisky. Non chill-filtered aquae vitae with a the color of watered down cola found in a glass of ice and coke the next morning. The nose of peat, iodine and brine from a westernly sea breeze with a wet November leaf burning smoke. The taste, a powerful smoke, peat and burned decomposed wet leaves with figgs, raisons and currants. The finish, a coal soap and creoaote presence. Savoring the flavor Lassiter leaned back in his chair. A satisfied man is a thankful man. Happy Thanksgiving. Slàinte, Tommy Maaltman.